Rhyme and Reason
by Percie Jean
Summary: (Poetry Collection) "And when she's done and types the last/of many words, she vows to keep/on writing 'till it's all made right/and wrongs have faded to the past."
1. Wielding

**Disclaimer: **This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Any recognizable characters or situations from _Newsies_ belong to Disney and not to me.

**A/N**: Poetry doesn't seem to be a popular genre in this fandom, which is understandable given that it's canonically described as "sappy" (thanks for that, Jack :P), but sometimes you just gotta take a break from the prose and dabble in a little verse instead. I honestly don't know where this came from, and I'm not sure if there's actually an audience in the fandom that would read this, but here it is. I'm hoping to add future installments as inspiration allows, and want to try out other forms of poetry, too, so we'll just see what happens!

This first poem has a slightly-unusual rhyme scheme (ABCA), which isn't as pleasant-sounding or satisfying to read as the more commonly used AABB or ABAB, but I kind of like it, because I think it reflects the "organized chaos" of the musical. The formatting on this site doesn't allow me to put the stanza breaks where I'd like them, so I had to use section breaks and periods as place-holders instead. It's kind of awkward-looking, but _c'est la vie_.

If you do end up giving this a read, please let me know what you think of it!

* * *

**Wielding**

I.

He deals in words - words, everyday:

He sells them, spins them, lets them work.

They call, they charm, and they cajole

As he employs them for his pay.

.

But when it's night and he's alone

The words are left forgotten. Then

His mind crafts visions, dreams instead

Of sky and air, of comfort, home.

* * *

II.

His words are calculating, cold.

He boasts and baits and blackmails too,

Does all he can to leverage

How many words are bought and sold.

.

But though he's built an empire strong

And lucrative, with power and reach,

At night he lies awake sometimes,

And wonders where it's all gone wrong.

* * *

III.

He's gripped by words and grasps them, too,

Sometimes master, sometimes not.

His hold on them is tenuous

And his successes small and few.

.

But he persists. With words unfurled

He pushes through the silence, fear.

He raises up a rallying cry,

And when he does, he shakes _The World._

* * *

IV.

She chooses words with willful care,

Crafting, shaping, calling out

With bold intention and design,

As all her fervor comes to bear.

.

And when she's done and types the last

Of many words, she vows to keep

On writing 'till it's all made right,

And wrongs have faded to the past.


	2. Last and Least

**Disclaimer: **This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Any recognizable characters from _Newsies_ belong to Disney and not to me.

**A/N:** A little free verse poem inspired by Benjamin Davenport's (Button's) line about not being "last in line for the tub." I'm usually not a big fan of free verse (it can be done well, I just personally struggle with it), but I couldn't manage to make this work in metered format, so here it is.

This takes place on Christmas Eve, some years before the strike.

* * *

**Last and Least**

.

Last in line like always,

He shrugs and settles down

Into the tepid tub water,

Bucket and dipper beside him

And a cake of soft brown soap

Already marred by several sets of fingers.

.

There's a fire blazing in the hearth

That warms his back even as he shivers,

Chilled behind the ragged curtain.

_Cold. _It is so _cold_.

The biting air is cold,

And the bath is getting colder.

.

He washes himself quickly,

Scrubs away what dirt he can

With the slimy soap and water

That probably lost its clarity

Four of five bathers ago,

When the others had their turns.

.

He shivers again, steps out,

Dries off and dresses,

Feet on the cold hard floor.

He towels his hair near-dry,

Then buttons up his threadbare shirt

And pushes the ragged drape aside.

.

No one notices; no one's waiting

For their turn in the tub, not anymore.

By the crackling fire sit the eldest two,

Discussing business.

He approaches and is shooed away.

("Can't you see we's busy?")

.

Three more sit hunched over at the table,

Rapt and focused,

Cards in hand.

He draws near to join them

And is quickly waved away.

("No room!")

.

He shrugs it off, retreats,

Too small, too scrawny

To shoulder his way in.

He's used to it; coming and going

Unnoticed and unseen,

The youngest and the weakest of them all.

.

...well, not exactly true.

A baby's mewling cry is heard as if on cue,

And he creeps quietly

Towards the darkened room,

Peeks through the slightly-opened door

And listens.

.

There it is again, the plaintive sound.

He hears his mother softly hum,

Cuddling the infant in her arms.

And then she looks and sees him at the door.

He quickly starts to leave -

But then he hears her calling ("Ben, come in.")

.

In he shuffles.

.

The room is dim and cold,

But his mother's voice is warm.

She beckons again, and he obeys,

Coming to sit beside her

And the little one -

He of wrinkled, grasping fingers,

Eyes blinking, barely open,

Mouth stretched into a tiny yawn,

All fragile-soft,

And so, so small...

.

Time stalls

And slows

In that darkened room.

The church bells faintly chime,

Heralding the advent-day -

Another Child, born in darkness

Wrapped in frailty,

Near-unnoticed and

Unseen

And so, so very small…

(not too great to come as last

and least).

.

And in that quiet moment

there descends

a soft

and gentle peace.


	3. Downstairs Upstairs

**Downstairs/Upstairs: A Sonnet Pair**

**Disclaimer: **This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Any recognizable characters or situations from _Newsies_ belong to Disney and not to me.

**A/N**: Decided on a whim to try this poetic structure to see if I could make it work for my longer story currently in progress. You could probably read this without much context and get the gist of what's going on, but the subjects of these poems will make a lot more sense if you've read Something Worth Winning (through Chapter 30) beforehand.

Traditional sonnets are iambic-pentameter poems of fourteen lines written with a two-part structure that covers a problem or question in the first part and an answer or insight, known as the "turn," in the second part (in this case, the turn is in the closing couplet). You'll notice some slightly-quaint word choices, a first person POV, and lots of figurative language, which will probably read a bit anachronistic for the poem's setting and its speakers (who don't actually talk like this), but I was going for an old-fashioned feel. Thanks for indulging my geekery, and for giving this a read! :)

* * *

**The Boy Downstairs Is Quite A Mystery**

.

The boy downstairs is quite a mystery;

He hesitates whenever I draw near,

And all my friendly overtures, it seems,

Serve only to dismay instead of cheer.

.

I've heard his passion speak with much at stake,

But no such candor when he speaks with me.

I wonder what unproven tact would make

His tongue unfettered and his voice set free.

.

The words are locked away, the key concealed.

I haven't found the clue, though I have tried.

His reticence, protective like a shield,

Renders my teasing efforts nullified.

.

...but sometimes when he smiles, not upset,

Deep down I know I'll win him over yet.

* * *

**The Girl Upstairs Is Inexplic'bly Bright**

.

The girl upstairs is inexplic'bly bright

And baffling like a full moon at midday,

And even when her warmth is small and slight,

I falter, and I don't know what to say.

.

Her cheerful smile knocks upon the door;

I hear the sound and hesitate within,

Too stirred to keep her waiting anymore,

Unsure of whether I should let her in.

.

I either speak too much, or not at all.

She seems intrigued (I can't imagine why)

And climbs a tree to peek over the wall

While beck'ning from her perch up in the sky.

.

But though I sense she wants me to be free,

In truth...I think her warmth has captured me.


	4. Jack Kelly's Strike

**Disclaimer**: "Paul Revere's Ride" belongs to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and _Newsies_ belongs to Disney.

**A/N**: In celebration of _Newsies_ opening on Broadway eight years ago today, I present to you said musical in the form of a loose parody of the classic children's poem "Paul Revere's Ride." The original source has a pretty complicated rhyme-scheme, so I struggled a bit with its translation, but hopefully the similarities are still evident. Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**Jack Kelly's Strike**

.

Listen, my children, as I retell

The story of newsboys refusing to sell:

In the month of July in the year ninety-nine,

Jack Kelly was lying 'neath silver star-shine,

His head full of dreams of the western frontier.

.

He said to his friend,

"If this life ain't your thing

And you's tired and weary of the jostle and fight,

Leave the city behind without a regret,

And think of a place where it's open and bright.

Just close your eyes, take a breath, come with me,

And I'll paint'cha a picture of what life could be

Without the dirt, the dark and the dread.

You'll be ridin' on ponies or runnin' instead

If you can hold on to the future ahead."

.

Then he said, "dreamin's done," and with bellowing roar

Summoned the newsies to wake up before

It was time to head out to buy papes for the day.

They lined up, all joking and waiting to pay.

By the window sat Weasel, annoyed at them all,

With his brass-knuckled nephews, sneering and tall,

Ready to fight if it came to a brawl.

(And up in his office at the very same time,

Pulitzer was weighing _The World's _bottom line).

.

Meanwhile, David Jacobs through roadway and street

Hurries and worries with heavy heart,

Afraid of his family falling apart,

The accident bringing them to their knees.

The sound of a headline, the trample of feet,

And he's suddenly off to an auspicious start,

As the newsboys fight back, and the day is seized.

.

Then the bulls and the cops show up. Heartless and mean,

They turn the tide against the boys,

And Crutchie's screams above the noise

Cause Jack to panic as he flees the scene.

Back at his penthouse, he yells and he cries,

Tired and hopeless, sick of the lies,

Ready to leave, to never look back.

He belts out his anger; the scene fades to black.

(Meanwhile, a typewriter's clacking away;

Katherine Plumber has entered the fray,

And her words pow'r the push that will make Humpty crack).

.

Later, at Jacobi's, all despair

With the strike at a standstill, the future unclear,

Sober and silent until they hear

A cheerful announcement erasing their care.

A headline! Front page in _The Sun,_

Their story's out to everyone.

What jubilance Katherine brings,

And for a moment, all are kings

So they sing and dance. They bring to bear

All of their joy, and then they share

The things they'll have once they have won.

(And in the distance, far away

A letter's written, just to say,

"Hold on, and don't give up the fight!"

A candle's glimmer in the dark of night).

.

Meantime, still hiding away from it all,

Jack's painting backdrops at Irving Hall

And he's thinking of how he can get away.

Now he hears the westward call;

He muses he might just leave today.

Then, inevitably, they appear:

Reporter, kid, and newsie peer,

All giving their reasons for his return

Though Jack's not sure that he can earn

Another chance to make wrongs right,

Dismayed by Crutchie's desperate plight.

But lo! As he hides, trying to draw back,

A question, and then a reptile fact!

Jack thinks there's a chance now, agrees to return.

They're going to make it, to get back on track

And _The World_ and its chokehold are going to burn.

.

A flurry of plans for the rally next day,

A scheme set in motion, a shot in the dark,

And despite some misgiving, in Jack's heart a spark

Of kindling hope that they might find a way

To make old Joe compromise. Could they invite

The newspaper owner to speak on that night?

The thought just won't leave him until he's in sight

Of Putlizer's office. But to his dismay...

.

He is forced down the stairs and the cellar looms large

The door's locked behind him; he's given the charge

To consider what might be if he just gives in,

Strikes down the strike without looking back,

By doing so keeping his family intact

And assuring their safety if Pulitzer wins.

.

It was time for the rally's start

When he slipped unnoticed into Irving Hall.

He said the words, playing his part;

The newsies balked and chaos fell.

Jack fled the scene, knowing too well

In saving them, he'd lost them all.

.

It was late in the night when he

Stopped by the penthouse one last time.

He knew it very well could be

The last time he took in the view.

As he scaled the ladder, sober, dismayed

He saw her there, drawings displayed,

Ready to fight for the cause anew

Her strategy prepared and primed.

.

It was quiet in the basement of _The World_

When stealthily they snuck inside.

The banner of freedom was unfurled,

And a stand was promised at morning's dawn.

Then the army deployed with weapons drawn

And took the news both far and wide

While Pulitzer was asleep in bed,

Not knowing he'd be first to fall

As through the city courage spread,

And change arrived...once and for all.

.

You know the rest from the play that you've seen,

How the newsies rejoiced in the finale scene,

How the gov'nor's help resolved it all,

Snyder in jail and Jack standing tall,

With a job and a family, loyal and true -

Still somehow together for all they'd been through.

With reasons like these, there's no need for escape;

He kisses his sweetheart, then pays for his papes.

.

So through the stage and screen writers retell

The striking account of the newsboys' stand,

How when injustice was at hand

They stood up and refused to sell,

Raising a cry for the plight of the poor,

In a voice that shall echo forevermore,

For all who bore the unjust load

To whom fair pay was rightly owed,

Those toiling in sweatshop and fact'ry and street

Refusing to answer the sound of the bell,

And hark'ning instead to the marshaling beat:

The cry of the newsboys refusing to sell.


	5. Newsies Limericks

**Disclaimer: **This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Any recognizable characters from _Newsies_ belong to Disney and not to me.

**A/N:** Happy April Fool's Day! Please enjoy these completely nonsensical limericks, compliments of the plot bunnies and my quirky sense of humor.

* * *

**Newsies Limericks**

There once was a newsie named Mush

Who owned a raccoon made of plush.

He'd carry it 'round

When he went into town

(Any heckling he'd zealously shush).

.

There was a small pipsqueak named Les

Who liked to stick out from the rest

So he wore a bowler

And rode in a stroller

Which had all the girls quite impressed.

.

Behold the shrewd businessman Joe

Who gives off an ominous glow

Whene'er he's cranky,

Can't locate his hankie,

Or finds that he's stubbed his big toe.

**.**

Spot Conlon was stoic and short.

He lived in a throw pillow fort.

He'd never come out

Though the fansies would pout

And all threaten to file a report.

.

Two sinister Delancey thugs

Were actually quite friendly with bugs -

They fed them by hand

Gave them toys on demand

And bought matching "Bug Dad" photo mugs.

.

There lived a young artist named Jack

Who loved his bright blue fanny pack

Though his friends did protest

It did not look the best

And the fashion police gave him flak.

**.**

A boy with a butt'ry-sweet smile

Could often be found an aisle

Of the local food mart

Where he'd hop in a cart

And would roll away, ridin' in style.

.

There once was a fellow named Davey

Who was quite afraid of the gravy

They served at the lodge

With a mash of hodgepodge.

(Mystery meals were never his fave-y).

.

* * *

**A/N: **Did I at least get you to crack a smile with one of these? I hope so! Let me know which one was your favorite!


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